


Tell me a Story

by fhsa_archivist



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: Challenge Response, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2019-02-05 14:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12796593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: For the Micah Nimir-Raj 12 Days of Christmas





	Tell me a Story

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

  
Author's notes: My wonderful friend and beta Sabriel corrected this story and also, she must be thanked for the much happier mood this tale ends in. I had finished it without a happy ending, but with her additions and advice this was the finale results, so it should say co-authored. It is a much nicer tale because of her. Thanks Jodi!  
Happy Holidays!  


* * *

_One month before Christmas_

 

The silk sheets rustled and whispered against bare flesh as the two forms parted only to snuggle back tightly together bathed in afterglow. Asher laid the scarred half of his face on the flat plane of Jean-Claude's stomach. His fingers curled through the thin treasure trail of hair from Jean-Claude's navel to his groin.

 

"Tell me a story," he whispered, placing a kiss on the cross-shaped burn on Jean-Claude's chest.

 

"Humm," Jean-Claude murmured. "A story you did not witness or one that you have not heard?" He ran a hand tenderly through Asher's golden hair, separating the strands so that they caught the flickering light of the candles, sending a glow across Jean-Claude's skin.

 

"Yes," Asher replied, tightening his hold on Jean-Claude's body.

 

Jean-Claude shifted down a little further, snuggling tighter against the comfort of Asher's warm body. "You know that when I served in Comte De Lorme's house I never received Christmas gifts. Oh, I would sometimes get to play with Jean-Pierre's castoffs or those he had broken beyond all repair, but never was there a gift beneath the tree for me, the whipping boy. I was invisible. Lower than the servants who did receive gifts."

 

Asher interrupted, "Jean-Claude," he said, voice heavy with sadness and regret, not for himself, but for the little black-haired, blue-eyed boy who had been plaything for the rich.

 

"Non," Jean-Claude said. "You wished for a story. Now listen," he ordered. "One Christmas, Jean-Pierre received two armies of little wooden solders," Jean-Claude's hand soothed along Asher's back as his voice became soft and distant. 

 

"They were beautiful, Asher. I fell in love with those little wooden toys immediately. One army had been the hated British, the bright scarlet of their uniforms making them easy targets for the imposing toy army. The other had been in my Lord's own House colors, and of course, were Jean-Pierre's favorites. It did not take long for Jean-Pierre to grow bored and break some of the little figures; he was a child that enjoyed pulling the wings of butterflies. One day I snuck into the kitchens to steal a bit extra bread and I saw them. The British army with their scarlet coats lay atop the trash. They were far fewer than the number originally given Jean-Pierre. I must have stood gazing wistfully at those toys for some minutes, for Marie, one of the servants leaned down and whispered, _take them_ , to me. But of course I did not."

 

Asher raised his head from Jean-Claude's chest to look upon his face. "Why not?" he asked.

 

Jean-Claude gave that shrug that even while lying in bed looked elegant. "In those days I had not learned that one had to steal what happiness one could find whenever the opportunity arose. So I left them there and went back to my cold room, falling asleep with those red toys dancing in my head. When I awoke, I was sure that Santa had made a special journey just for me, for there, next to my bed, laid out on a scrap of red cloth were those toy soldiers." Jean-Claude smiled into Asher's pale eyes, a grin of rare honest delight upon his face. "I must have played with those toys for hours," he said. The smile faded and his eyes and voice became detached and distant once more. "I played too long it seemed, for with no warning the door burst open and Jean-Pierre came barging in. He took the soldiers from my hands and before turning to leave said, _They are dead. Do you not know that you cannot play with the dead_?" Jean-Claude gave a harsh bark of laughter and his eyes mocked Asher for a moment. He raised a brow, "Cannot play with the dead, was he foresighted, do you think?"

 

Asher lowered his head back to Jean-Claude's chest and one lone pink-tinted tear fell on the pale flesh under his face. "No happy stories to share, Jean-Claude?" he asked.

 

"It does not have a completely unhappy ending, mon chardonneret. You see, he didn't take all the soldiers. There was one that had been injured in the fighting and I had removed him to hospital. Jean-Pierre never saw him." Jean-Claude's eyes flicked away from Asher's, just for a moment. But Asher followed them. There, on a shelf, tucked away, was a tiny scrap of red. Could that same toy have lasted through more than 400 years?

 

Asher didn't say anything, lost in thought, he felt Jean-Claude again shrug under him. "You asked for a story and that is what my mind remembered, unhappy memories seem to last longer than happy ones," Jean-Claude's voice was matter a fact, but Asher could feel the waves of sadness his request for a tale had brought. 

 

Asher once more rose to his elbows, arms on either side of Jean-Claude's body. He looked down into those beloved midnight blue eyes. "What if for next years telling, I give you a happy memory in its place?" 

 

Jean-Claude's smiled in delight and perhaps a touch of relief as well as Asher leaned down and covered his smiling lips with his own.

 

Each good memory can replace a bad one, he thought...

 

_Christmas Eve_

 

Jean-Claude had not initially noticed the package waiting for him beneath the tree. He had assumed that all the gifts were for Anita. But something about this one caught his eye. Perhaps because it was wrapped in red silk rather than in traditional wrapping paper. He pulled it from the pile. It felt good in his hands, the silk caressing his skin. It was heavier than he expected. And it had his name written in elegant calligraphy.

 

He opened it. He couldn't help it. Inside sat a wooden box. Plain, yet clearly of expert craftsmanship, he opened it with reverence. Inside were two sets of toy soldiers. Each one hand pained in meticulous detail. The British redcoats and the French army, though the French soldiers sported midnight blue and a blue so silver they reminded him of Asher's eyes.

 

He sat, stunned, when he realized that these were not merely hand painted but had been lovingly hand painted by Asher. He blinked, eyes growing moist as he stared down at his gift, made with so much care and love, just for him. A flash of gold caught his eye and he turned his head to see Asher standing in the doorway watching him lovingly. 

 

"Those are yours, Jean-Claude. No one can take them away." Asher came forward and knelt down next to Jean-Claude. Tenderly he cupped a pale cheek, fingers caressing the smooth skin. "No more remembering the ones that were taken, only these that were gifted to you." Asher pressed his lips firmly against Jean-Claude's before smiling and leaving Jean-Claude to assemble his toy army.

 

The End


End file.
